


Not Computing

by ArbitrarilyImportant



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, it's really hard to write in present tense??, this is shit I know but I did write it all at about two in the morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArbitrarilyImportant/pseuds/ArbitrarilyImportant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heir raises his hands in a placating gesture; the faint vestiges of a plan that he had been considering throughout the day begin to condense in his mind.<br/>“Maybe,” he begins, falters, continues with a rush, “maybe we could trade contact details? Something discreet, that doesn't tie directly to our civilian identities? “</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Computing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like One Sundered Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/869819) by [oriflamme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oriflamme/pseuds/oriflamme). 



> **Disclaimer** , the characters, plot and some of the writing do not belong to me!! They're part of [Oriflamme's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oriflamme/pseuds/oriflamme) amazing _Like One Sundered Star_ series, which everyone should definitely read! In fact, if you haven't read that, this fic is going to make little to no sense, so fair warning. 
> 
> Upon reading said work for the upteenth time, I got the urge to write this out; during the first few chapters, this is how I always imagined the reveal happening, so *jazz hands* ta-dah.

A figure peers out a second floor window; said figure, detecting no watching eyes, proceeds to throw itself into the cool night's air. Had anyone been watching the nondescript window of the nondescript house, they would not have seen a fast plummet to the ground, as the law of gravity demands, but in fact a faster rise into the darkened skies.  
They might have felt a faint stirring of wind.  
They most definitely would not have heard a whispered command to find Hemogoblin, the second member of Seattle's super powered crime fighting duo. 

\---

Cackling to himself, Heir rises into the air again, just in time to catch a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. The wind yanks him almost sideways, overexcited and enthusiastic in its haste to reach its target. Err, maybe Heir put a little too much spirit into that request to locate Hemogoblin; he doesn’t think the wind has ever been this forcefully earnest before, except in his defense. He hovers back over the street beside the library and this time, when he scans the seemingly-empty shadows, he spots a sleek form flitting between one shadow and the next, two points of luminescence just barely visible from here.

He does wonder what Hemogoblin is doing on the ground rather than on the roof, as he floats downward. But mostly, he's just happy to see the other hero looks to be in one piece! "Hello, Hemogoblin," he says softly, letting the wind drop him to the ground just outside the edge of a lonely street light.  
The other hero presses a little further into the shadows, his candy red eyes widened a little more than usual under his mask, but other than that, he doesn't show any other sign that Heir's appearance has startled him. "Well, well. Look who came back to our neck of the woods. And here I thought you'd be occupied with things on the East coast," Hemogoblin murmurs, one hip hitching up slightly as he folds his arms.

Uh.  
Ooooops.  
John had been so concerned about Karkat having seen Heir on the news, Heir had completely forgotten that Hemogoblin is probably in possession of a TV, too. And totally not blind or stupid. Uh. Oh man.  
"Ahahah?" he laughs nervously, and immediately wants to slap himself. Could he sound any more uncool?! Come on, pull it together! "Yeah, that was kind of an unexpected detour. Like, I honestly have very little idea how I managed to get there in time."

How does one explain that one's powers have suddenly extended into the realms of teleport-spamming that ranges across the country? Seriously, is there some kind of hero manual Heir can read about this sort of thing, because he needs to brush up on hero etiquette or something.  
One foot is brushing the ground slightly, and the troll's eyes have gone slightly hooded. It's making Heir's mouth kind of dry, and he feels as awkward in comparison as ever. Hemogoblin seriously has this svelte, seductive thing down, and it's as intimidating as it is alluring. "You're telling me you ended up at the scene of some super villainous breakdown all the way across the country...by accident?"  
Oh no. Hemogoblin is pouting, his lip just a little pursed. It is doing things to Heir. Augggggh.  
"It's a new thing," Heir hastens to explain. He's flailing a bit with his arms, and probably looks like a total spaz. Thank god his mask covers up the faint flush of embarrassment working its way across his face. "Uh, I don't know how much you saw of it - a lot of the news crews were getting wrecked before we arrived, and I don't know how technology really reacts to all that grimdark R-the villain was putting out."  
Oooh man. He has no idea what people are calling Rose's super powered evil side! He nearly said her actual name! He really is off his game, here.

"They seemed to catch most of it," Hemogoblin says, raising a slinky eyebrow. Is everything about this guy...slinky? "After a while they started to avoid Dark Star's immediate vicinity, and the quality went down, but I saw enough."

Dark Star, huh? Well, Heir guesses if you had no idea for the context of how the Horrorterrors worked, it made as good a name as any. "Uh. Then you probably saw the uh" - Heir twirls his fingers in circles which has nothing to do with anything oh my god this is embarrassing - "teleporty thing?"

Hemogoblin's eyes light up, and his back straightens. "I might have noticed it," he says, staring at Heir intently. "I wasn't sure it was you, after that. Something new?"  
Well, he can't exactly share all the details of his cross-country tour from hell, but he can give the barest details. Hemogoblin does deserve an explanation. Kind of. "Ended up in Houston last night," Heir says, shrugging. "I knew how to get in contact with Flashstep, so I hung out with him while I tried to figure out how the whole teleporting thing worked. And then in the morning we heard about uh, Dark Star, and we grabbed the Puppeteer and hauled ass up to New York. It was all really improvised - trust me, I did not intend to be out of town last night." He folds his hands together to make them stop flailing, and gives Hemogoblin the most apologetic look he can muster. "I heard about Boxcars and everything. Seriously, I am so sorry I wasn't here to help. Everything was so unexpected and obviously I couldn't contact you to let you know what was going on and just - blegh."

Hemogoblin stiffens up and draws back again, evidently not satisfied by Heir’s explanation. “Yeah, but I see you had no problem getting in touch with Puppeteer and Flashstep.” His tone is dark. “Is this some kind of ‘leave out the new guy’ thing? Is every hero in the country supposed to be able to contact each other in an emergency like, I don't know, a giant fucking hell-monster destroying New York?”

Okay. That whole folding-his-hands-together plan to stop Heir flailing? Tooootally not working. “No! No, I swear I wasn't trying to leave you out, I told you to was completely random and unexpected! I would've called you in or at least told you what was happening, like I said, but I had no way of doing it.”  
John - ack, no, Heir - raises his hands in a placating gesture; the faint vestiges of a plan that he had been considering throughout the day begin to condense in his mind.  
“Maybe,” he begins, falters, continues with a rush, “maybe we could trade contact details? Something discreet, that doesn't tie directly to our civilian identities? “

At this moment, if Heir had the same ability as his partner, he might have been able to hear the sudden surging of Hemogoblin’s blood. Was Heir actually suggesting this? Being so deeply in each other's confidences, having such a level of trust? Any thought of a cool and calm persona flew from the troll's mind, any anger forgotten.  
“Are you kidding? You want to - with me? Fuck, I mean, yeah! But how? We couldn't do numbers, obviously, and public social media clearly can't work, but I could always- “

Heir (still not quite believing he had suggested such a scheme, let alone without clearing it with his dad) lets a grin creep over his face, and speaks almost as quickly as Hemogoblin. “Well, I've been thinking about it, and do you have pesterchum? It's pretty anonymous, and at least mine doesn't show my civilian identity.”

“Pesterchum? Shit, yeah, sure. That works for me; how do you want to do this? I could give you mine now, or you could give me yours? Wait, fuck, that sounded dirty, you know what I meant, shit- “

It should be acknowledged at this point that both these heroes are still suffering the effects of intense physical injury, including various head wounds, and so cannot be blamed for any rash or ill advised decisions.

“No, yeah, that's cool!” Heir swallows, perhaps trying to summon an expression suitable to the occasion. “So, um, do you want to tell me your handle?”

Hemogoblin, too, attempts to school his expression; he regains some of his flirty candor, but the image is somewhat ruined by the fact that he is practically bouncing on his heels, oh my god, Heir can't handle this guy. Then again, he himself isn't much better.  
Ever paranoid, the troll glances around, glaring into the shadows of the alley until, with an ‘oh, right!’ and a twitch of his wrist, Heir flies them both up a few hundred feet, where there's probably no one listening. 

Hemogoblin whispers something, but Heir only frowns and shakes his head. He obviously didn't hear that correctly, right?  
“Sorry,” he says with a laugh, “what was that? I didn't catch you.”  
Hemogoblin repeats himself, putting more force behind the words. “carcinoGeneticist”.  
Aaaand yep, that's what he said the first time, but John - and it is John whose mind these thoughts are racing through - simply can't understand it.  
His brain can't handle it. His hero mindset can't handle it when Hemogoblin’s words echo in his ears, because his hero mindset has nothing to do with his civilian life. Has nothing to do with Karkat.  
With Karkat.

Because that's Karkat’s handle, not his partner’s.  
John can't do anything but stand, agape, staring at the troll, who’s expression is slowly becoming more and more uncomfortable under the scrutiny.  
John's brain grinds back into gear, and he pulls at Hemogoblin’s collar, wind whipping around them both in response to his agitation. “Where the hell did you get that name?” he hisses, already planning the fastest way to get to Karkat's house from here, it's only been a few hours since he saw him, god he's such an idiot leaving him without any protection, especially since Bro warned him about the- “Are you Crew?”

“What - what the fuck are you talking about? Of course not! It's my handle, I don't know what you're talking about!”

“Bullshit, its your handle, it's Karkat's! How did you find him, did you follow me home? I swear-”  
He's interrupted by Hemogoblin’s spluttering. 

“Shitting fuck, how do you know Karkat, fuck-”

His heart is pounding, he has know idea what to do, his thoughts are a repeating refrain of leak, threat, DANGER. “How do I - we’re moirails, which you’d know, you stalker-”

Again, John is interrupted, not by yelling, but by a quiet and monotonous “What.”  
He can barely think, what, ‘what’, before Hemogoblin begins, of all things, to laugh. He lets go of the other boy’s collar in shock, staring at shaking shoulders as he bends nearly double in laughter. 

“You,” the troll wheezes out, “are moirails with Karkat. Karkat.”

Entirely nonplussed, John manages a ‘yeah’, stupefied at the turn of events.  
He stiffens in shock when Hemogoblin straightens, lips twitching but holding down laughter, and grabs John’s shoulders. 

“You. Fuck, John, it’s me. Karkat.”

"Karkat," he repeats, with a weird, still space in the middle of his chest. He knows he should be more concerned that the hero just used his real name, but really, what the shit?

“John.”

He clamps down one of his hands on Karkat's - Karkat’s - and stares at his face, and yes, he can see it, the jaw is the same, the shape of the eyes, and -  
Hemogoblin is Karkat.  
It's still not computing.

John lets out a whine, then a snort (he dimly realises that the wind around them has been pulled into a mini tornado, but really, at this point, he couldn’t care less), and then he too bursts into laughter, Karkat immediately following suit.

He's been such a fucking idiot. They’ve both been idiots.  
Karkat, Karkat, Karkat.


End file.
